I did it: I came. I suffered. I rested.

I did it. I did exactly what I wanted to in 2019. I worked hard and I rested well. Did everything go exactly as I planned? No way. Were there scary moments? Difficult days? Things I wish never had happened? Yes. Many. But through it all, I worked hard, stayed the course, didn’t lose my sh-t, and I rested well.  I rested every Sunday, all the Holy Days of Obligation, and all of December when my fourth child was born.

I did exactly what I wanted. I sunk into the hard times. I rejoiced and spoke my joy through the good times. How often do we get to say that? How often do we get to say, “I did what I wanted?”

We get to say that every time we allow contentment and purpose to fill our hearts.

In many ways, it doesn’t matter what is happening from the day to day. What happens to us does not truly define us and it certainly does not determine our worth.

Trauma affects us, of course, but even trauma does not need to define us or dictate to us what we do next.

We started 2019 with high volumes of work frustrations, that were piling on top of work frustrations from 2017 and 2018.  This dominated our nightly conversations and wrapped us in stress. We had little to no direction concerning our future. We were very much in flux and it was a cold, dark, uncertain beginning to our year.

But even so, I pushed into those closest to me and to the saving hand of Christ.  I chose listening over speaking. I chose staying over going. I chose contentment over jealousy. I chose yes over no. Those choices became my habits and they made a huge difference over the next twelve months.

Does this sound cliche? Does this sound like a motivational speaker with perfect make-up? Because it’s not. This is me not afraid of the trenches. This is me with dirt on my face from crying into the ruthless wind. This is me with my heart longing for holiness.

Since joining the Catholic church almost two years ago, I have learned the secret of being content. Others have known it in and out of the Catholic church, but for me, I had to learn it in the church.

I’ve found that Catholics have a unique and beautiful understanding of suffering that I had not known before. It’s expected. Suffering is expected, even welcomed.

Previously, I attached a certain disdain for times of suffering, thinking that since Christ came to make me a victor, I must be doing something wrong when life was upsetting. The story I told myself was, “I must not have enough faith. I must be making mistakes. I must be a fool.”

But more and more I realize every bit of suffering that I do, whether it be a sink full of sticky pans or being told that we won’t get paid this month, is me taking up my cross.  In the suffering I experience, I connect with the sufferingness that Christ experienced.  In fact, suffering is one of the most sure ways to connect with God.

When we taste and see that the Lord is good, we are usually tasting salty tears.

I cannot create ex nihilo. I cannot heal out of my own power. I cannot save souls. But suffer? Yes, I can do that.  As far as I can see today, to suffer is the one sure thing that God did, that I can do, too.

Paul says, “I can do everything through Christ who strengthens me.” This is the crux of a good theology of suffering.

I, personally, cannot do anything out there in the world just because “Christ strengthens me.” Christ has not strengthened me to run a marathon or to make six figures or to be an influencer. Those fall under the “anything” category, right? But I’m not doing any of those things.

No, the real “anything” that Paul is talking about is suffering.  Skim back a few verses and see. He is talking about doing with more or with less, being filled and being hungry. He is talking about the highs and lows, the easy and the excruciating. The true anything is picking up his cross and following Christ.

I can follow Christ because Christ strengthens me. Any amount of suffering: I can handle that because Christ suffered first. I can pick up my cross, as Christ called me to do, because Christ picked up His.

So this January I am doing more of the same. It is a tight squeeze once again. January is a cold and bitter month for us, but I am choosing to lean into the strange comfort of a rough hewn cross.  Over and over and over again.